Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad novel Chapter 10

The car pulls around to the back of Kent’s mansion and enters a garage. When I get out of the car, Kent is standing at the entrance to the house, his arms crossed.

The guards move to the trunk to remove my dad.

“Why did you do this,” I ask, glaring at the mafia boss.

He looks me in the eye. “Because I knew that if I let you say goodbye, you’d tell the driver your address and lead us right there.’”

I gape, realizing, of course, that I did precisely that.

“Whereas,” he continues, “if I told you that we wanted to take your dad for leverage, you’d have clammed up and given him a chance to run. Honestly, Fay,” he says. “You’ve got to become a little more canny if you’re going to survive in this world.”

I hang my head, suddenly ashamed and exhausted. He’s right, I’m too naïve.

The guard takes my arm and moves me into the house.

“Take him to the chamber,” Kent says to the guards who carry my dad. Dad wriggles in their arms, but it’s half-hearted.

I twist as the guards take him away, but I’m held tight. “The chamber?!” I call. “What is -“

“He will be fine, Fay,” Kent says to me, holding my gaze. “You have my word on it. And I don’t give my word lightly.”

I bite my lip. “Please,” I say, begging now. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“I am merely gathering all the players in one place, Fay,” Kent says. “We have word that Dean still has control of your sister.”

I gasp, tears springing to my eyes. “Is she okay? Is she –“

“She’s fine,” he says, his face stone.

“Please,” I breathe, “can you get her away from him? She owes him money –he’ll make her pay for it –“

“Why should I, Fay?” He snaps, interrupting me. “What can Fay Thompson give to me,” he says, “to make it worth my time?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “I have nothing. But…” My whole body starts to tremble. “I’ll do anything you want.”

And I’m so, so tired…

Quicker than I would have thought possible, I fall back into a troubled sleep.

A few hours later, I’m awoken by the sound of the key in the lock. I blink away my sleep and see a woman peeking in my door. “Hello?” she says. “May I come in?”

I huff a little laugh. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, dearie,” the older woman says, not unkindly, closing the door behind her.

“A shower for you, quickly,” she says, gesturing towards the bathroom.

I obediently oblige, not seeing the point in arguing. When I come back, she seats me at a little vanity and quietly does my makeup, pins my hair up in elaborate curls, and dresses me in a far-too-gorgeous red gown that falls to my ankles.

I study myself in the mirror. The dress is not girly, but neither is it scandalous or provocative. Instead, when I study myself in the mirror I look…

Well. I look every inch the mafia princess. Rich, poised, a little dangerous.